


he says that i'm glowing

by minhoscallousedhands



Series: minewt; rated r [3]
Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Smut, minewt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-13 02:00:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5690278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minhoscallousedhands/pseuds/minhoscallousedhands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>minho swears way too much, and newt made him think that his own hair gel cockblocked him. even then, minho still wanted newt to pop his cherry, so he did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	he says that i'm glowing

_cover my thoughts in gold_  
_i’m your flower watch me unfold_  
_my vulnerability_  
_letting you consume me_

_(unfold - alina baraz & galimatias)_

 

 

The last thing he wanted was to become a cliche; but then again, quoting the man himself, _deflowering_ was due (let’s not forget the air quotes). But that’s what he said to his best friend.

Honestly? He found the I’m-your-senior-and-you’re-a-freshman-and-I’m-getting-off-of-your-inexperience trope really fucking hot.

It was all real, though, he wasn’t playing coy, he _is_ coy, with no one on his ‘done’ list. Okay? He _was_ nervous. The said senior is half a foot taller than him, body half as buff, left arm covered in a tat sleeve–looks like he could kill him, honestly, until he saw the face hidden behind his bangs that are too goddamn long for a good look on anyone. Never mind that, let’s talk about the face instead because boy doesn’t even look close to a 20 year old. Yet he _is_ a senior, architecture major with 4.0 GPA in hand, along with a cigarette that’s perpetually caught between his index and middle finger.

Don’t even get him started on the thin lips puffing the cigarette smoke. Fucking hell.

So when those lips blew smoke right on his face, what the hell was he supposed to do? Run away? No fucking way. He’s almost nineteen and he’d never had a blowjob before; let alone a boner in his ass. Shocker, considering that he spends most of his evenings upping his bench press and deadlift, but defined muscles clearly can’t make up for that rude mouth of his. His glasses and blobs of hair gel don’t help much either. Not in high school, and certainly not in college, where it’s clearly a different game.

“Ever heard of hairspray?” Tat Sleeve was probably addressing the pile of grease that was his combover.

“Ever heard of scissors?” He was super offended to say the least. There was _no_ way he would take hairstyling advice from a guy who probably never combs his hair. Yet he touched the top of his head.. Yikes.

(He chucked away his hair gel the next day.)

Tat Sleeve sniggered and said something he can’t hear.

“What?”

“I said, do you wanna fuck?”

Yeah, what the hell happened, right? The hell he knew. How would you bring up the fact that you’re a virgin when a guy you’ve laid your eyes on for a while asked if you want to sleep with him?

_You don’t._

So he nodded.

It’s probably the booze; he had no recollection of some parts of the night, i.e. 1. How did he get Tat Sleeve’s name–Newt, 2. How did he get to being pinned against the wall of an empty bedroom in this frat house by Tat-, Newt, 3. The thought process behind blurting out “I’m a virgin please don’t hurt me” mid-said-making out. _Minho, you fucking dimwit._

“I’ll save the hurting for the second time.”

Newt’s hair was pushed back, bangs tucked away behind his ears, clear amber eyes with Minho’s reflection in it warmed along with his smile. Fuck Newt and his smile. Fuck him and his ugly hair. Fuck him. _Fuck_ him. _Wow._

“Consent should never be implied, so.. Are you sure?”

_Is he a mind reader or something?_

All he remembers after that point on was him saying yes once, sure and shy and blushing, then him saying a chain of yes, _yes-yes-yes_ , gasping and moaning and sometimes screaming. Holy fuck, he wishes Newt would blow him instead of smoke every damn day. Finally his boner found its home after years of awkwardly tucking it away: in Newt’s mouth, slick and hard and needy, hitting the back of the senior’s throat every so often. Forget seeing stars, he was seeing the whole motherfucking galaxy.

Or so he thought, cause when Newt started putting his two fingers to a use other than holding his cancer stick, he didn’t know what he saw. Was it stars? A galaxy? Dandruff on a dark surface? Who the fuck knows, or cares; he was filled, and then not. Then, again, deeper. Then not. Repeat 100x. Oh God Yes. G spot isn’t a myth after all. Twitch twitch, his cock goes, close to release. _Not now, please_ , he begged himself, oddly yet fortunately sober enough to not finish when Newt hadn’t even started yet (and not to say that out loud).

“Am I hurting you?” he paused.

Newt’s voice sounded like a soft purr in Minho’s ear. It would have been appropriate to reply with something alike, but..

“Oh my god I’m sorry I’m screaming I’m hurting your ears, am I hurting your ears?”

He laughed. “Nah, man. You sound brilliant.” The accent and the laugh popped his boner harder.

Somewhere around that, Newt pushed Minho to the bed, crawled on top of him, spreading him open. He’d daydreamed of this–his first time–a million different ways in his head, with a myriad of attractive people (Newt included), but not this way. Never this way: in a frat party, EDM playing not-so-faintly in the background, with a senior he just officially met less than an hour prior to sex. _The_ sex. It’s only natural that he felt vulnerable, exposed. Especially when he didn’t remember who took his clothes off.

“I’m scared.”

Newt stopped mid-ripping the condom (Where did that come from? Wow.) wrapper with his teeth open. “Then I won’t.”

“But I really, really want this.” he took the unopened latex and ripped it open himself. “Just be gentle.”

“I will.”

His memory of Newt slowly pressing himself into him was retained in impressive clarity and great detail. Their eyes and hands locked, the older boy lowered himself between his thighs, he adjusted his legs and rest them on his shoulders, and when he’s completely filled and stretched, Newt’s lids fell shut and his lips parted. His foul-language-ridden internal monologue was at a complete stop at that moment, for he had never seen anything so beautiful.

Time froze. The music faded out. The world stopped. It felt like they were the only ones moving, well, besides the bed. Minho couldn’t hear himself scream Newt’s name, and his vision was filled with stars, a stretch of dark blue sky full of it, head spinning, core clenching. Alcohol and sex battled for a place in his head, coursing through his nerves, overruling control over his own body. The only thought he had then was repeatedly hoping that he’d remember it all, despite all the shots he’d taken. 

He doesn’t, but his memory’s kind enough to keep the important bits.

Newt, desperate for release, bit down the skin of his collarbone, grunting and moaning, pumping himself faster in and out. The plethora of glowing white dots cramped his vision, fat drops of sweat surfaced on his forehead, fresh red bruises bloomed on his neck–one bite after another. Newt screamed. Everything’s bright white and making him dizzy. Then there came the warmth, filling a void he didn’t knew existed; and just like that, he’s complete.

_Fucking finally._

“What’s your name again?”

_Did he fucking just-_

_Motherf-_

_Did he even-_

And he said there’s gonna be a second time? Please.


End file.
